


We Are The Champions

by Rethira



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:32:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rethira/pseuds/Rethira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik's life is really very hard.</p>
<p>This is mostly Charles' fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are The Champions

**Author's Note:**

> Possibly this came into existance because of Good Omens and Queen CDs. We just can't know for sure.
> 
> I am also instigating the age old Marvel Universe tradition of _continuity? What continuity?_
> 
> Beyond the fact that this nominally takes place some thirty years after X-Men First Class, any and all significant events are up to you.

Some days, Erik will compare Charles to that persistent song you keep hearing, the one that’s invariably on the radio whenever you turn it on, that gets used in adverts and makes acceptable background listening in shopping centres. He’s the song you never really learn to hate but can never really love either until the day they stop playing it and the next thing you know you own CDs that you only ever listen to for that one particular song and every time anyone says anything bad about it you’re left in a foul mood all day, even though you can’t quite bring yourself to say _that’s my favourite song in all the world and I will thank you not to bad mouth it._

Erik has the feeling that if Charles knew, he would laugh himself silly over it.

Other days, Erik will quite happily and quite viciously say that Charles is _Bohemian Rhapsody_ – everyone loves him, but he’s probably barmy, and very inclined to nonsensical rambling, possibly with a side of babbling about _life’s great mysteries_ or whatever rot Charles is espousing lately.

Erik is absolutely _not_ a Queen fan, and if you imply that he is, he will rip all the iron in your blood out through your face.

(There is an old cassette tape and cassette player in Magneto’s office. Occasionally, if you listen very carefully, you can just about make out _We Will Rock You_ accompanied by clapping hands and banging metal.)

~

“Oh do turn the radio up, there’s a good chap,” Charles says, turning away from Erik to look at the driver. Said driver is one of Erik’s lesser minions, and has been instructed that for this particular venture, saying or doing anything that isn’t specifically requested by Charles and or Erik will result in the iron fillings in his teeth suddenly embedding themselves in his eyeballs, so he wisely turns up the radio.

_Bohemian Rhapsody_ blares out from the speakers, and Charles grins at Erik.

“I love this song,” he says excitedly, because Charles is five years old even when he’s pushing sixty.

“I really prefer Mozart,” Erik sniffs pointedly, because back in the Good Old Days™, Charles had refused to listen to pop or rock or anything that wasn’t a hundred years old.

Predictably, Charles gets all defensive. “Oh do come on, Erik. You sound like a fuddy duddy when you say that.” Charles, while being five-going-on-sixty, is also able to completely undermine Erik’s entire powerbase, because precisely no-one will respect a man who allows himself to be called a fuddy duddy. Erik suspects Charles enjoys doing this, because every year they have almost exactly the same argument and invariably Erik’s driver leaves him to go and worship Charles’ sacred school.

Charles is also one to talk about fuddy duddys.

Erik sniffs again, also pointedly, and refuses to be persuaded to join in with Charles’ dreadful rendition of _Bohemian Rhapsody_.

By the time the song ends, they’ve arrived at Erik’s – sorry, _Magneto’s_ latest hideaway, where all the long-time members impressively manage to not snigger when they see him wheeling Charles in.

~

Sometimes Erik really despairs of Charles. He half wants to have a big rant about how they’ve been stepping out together for half their lives and Charles _still_ hasn’t put out, but he’s pretty sure the only reason his various most trusted Brotherhood members don’t laugh him out of the room whenever he kidnaps Charles for some alone time is because they all think he’s getting laid, and he doesn’t doubt that when one of them realises he _isn’t_ , all the threats about blood and iron and fillings and eyeballs in the world won’t get him their respect back.

It wouldn’t be such a blasted nuisance if he wasn’t always so _happy_ immediately after seeing Charles.

~

“You’ve stolen the last seventeen of my drivers, Charles, so I’m afraid _I’m_ driving,” Erik says, snappishly. Charles sighs like _he’s_ the most put upon person in the entire world, and leans over to try and fiddle with the radio. Erik bats his hand away. “The driver picks the music, Charles, or don’t you remember?”

Charles gives Erik a Look™. “You’ve let me pick the music the last fifteen times you’ve kidnapped me, Erik,” he says, managing to sound both smug and hurt at the same time.

“ _Fine_ ,” Erik grumbles, and he pretends to be shocked when Charles manages to find a station that plays Queen with some regularity.

Erik doesn’t have to sniff pointedly this time, because Charles does it for him.

~

Their ‘dates’ tend to consist of the same basic points; an argument in the car on the way over, some polite non-discussion of politics while they’re in company, and then a less polite conversation about politics later while Erik cooks dinner. They manage to play chess after dinner, and Erik will try desperately hard not to just stand up and say “Charles, we’ve been essentially married for thirty years, would it kill you to sleep with me?” At some point, Charles will make a pointed reminder that this is, for all intents and purposes, a kidnapping, and then Erik will feel like asking after the possibility of sex would just be pressuring Charles unnecessarily.

Before Charles leaves, they always manage to get into an argument – usually over some trivial matter like the colour of Erik’s cape clashing with Charles’ everything – that tends to devolve into Erik hovering things dramatically, Charles pouting and demanding to go home, and at least one broken plate.

What Charles’ mutants think of it all, Erik neither knows nor cares. _His_ mutants however, especially the younger ones, tend to make off colour remarks regarding husbands, trousers and Erik’s virility; all things Erik would prefer not to talk about.

Also, he would like to say, very pointedly, that Charles is _definitely_ the wife.

~

“I couldn’t agree more with you,” Charles says. It’s a non-sequitur, which is par for the course when there’s a telepath around.

“What,” Erik asks, bluntly.

“Oh, it was a passing thought. We’re just agreeing that if one of us was turned into a girl, it should better be me. I think you’d miss your penis just a bit too much there, Erik,” Charles replies, like they aren’t in front of half the Brotherhood.

“ _Charles_ ,” Erik says, half way to scandalised.

“Oh Erik, really. I don’t know what _you’re_ complaining about. You’re the one who gets to keep his penis,” Charles replies, sounding disturbingly chipper. “You’re also the one who _isn’t_ being imagined, ah, _genderbent,_ thank you, as we speak. Although yes, general consensus seems to be _run away and don’t look back_ if they ever met you as a woman.”

Well. That’s something at any rate.

“Oh good lord, thank goodness that’s never happened,” Charles continues. “I shouldn’t imagine pregnancy is a comfortable experience by any stretch of the imagination, but being confined to a wheelchair probably makes it infinitely worse.”

Erik absolutely _does not_ imagine Charles pregnant, but he does abruptly stand and take Charles away from the maniacs Erik calls minions.

~

Erik has no idea how, but Charles has managed to live his entire life perfectly aware of every vile, cruel and nasty thought to pass through virtually anyone’s head, and yet he _still_ manages to be perfectly upbeat and perky all the time. At some point, he manages to learn half the Brotherhood’s names, and tends to greet them all with a slightly manic grin and pointed remarks along the lines of “How’s your mother doing these days, Crusher?”

These little stops become part of Charles’ kidnappings, to such an extent that Erik feels vaguely hunted and sure that Charles knows more about the minutiae of Erik’s minions than Erik does himself.

It gets pointedly ridiculous when Charles coos over the fact that one of Erik’s minions is pregnant, and this evidently calls for some sort of baby shower. There is literally no way Charles cannot know that Erik is displeased by this turn of events, and yet by the time the X-Men arrive to take Charles back home – they call it ‘rescuing’ him – the lair of the week is sporting streamers and decorations cut into the shape of little ducks and Charles has somehow procured knitting needles and some wool and is making the baby-to-be some tiny little booties.

The X-Men are, to say the least, somewhat nonplussed.

Erik glares at them until Charles looks up from the tiny pink shoe and says “Oh fine Erik, you and the children can go and play. Just try not to break too much.”

It’s positively obscene how much Erik enjoys Charles’ days out.

~

Eventually it all comes to a head and Erik stands up in the middle of a chess game, glares at any nearby minions and thinks _very pointedly_ at Charles, _are you going to suck my cock or what?_

To be honest, he probably enjoys Charles’ incomprehensible babbling and blushing just as much as he would have enjoyed a blowjob.

This is, Erik concedes, a bad thing.

~

“I’m not sure I should even go with you after last time,” Charles sniffs. “Honestly, that was simply puerile, Erik.”

Erik grits his teeth. “We’re married, Charles. We’ve _been_ married for _thirty years_. You haven’t put out _once_. I think I can be forgiven for being slightly frustrated.” The _and you must be too_ goes unspoken, although both of them hear it loud and clear.

Charles, for once, has the grace to look abashed. “Oh, my dear, you really should have said something sooner.” He’s about three seconds away from wringing his hands.

“I have a better idea,” Erik says. “Let’s find the nearest motel and you can give me a long overdue blowjob.” And Erik can finally put all those _Paraplegics, Sex and You_ books to use.

“Should I be worried you’re only using me for my body, Erik?” Charles asks, coyly, for some godforsaken reason.

“Charles. We are in your bedroom. We have been in your bedroom several times each year for thirty years, with you in various states of undress. I don’t think you understand the amount of restraint it takes not to simply toss you onto your bed and _damn_ the consequences.” Erik suspects he’s sounding somewhat manic and terrifying, but he doesn’t particularly care.

“Well. When you put it like that.”

~

As it turns out, getting laid actually puts Erik in a foul mood. The entire Brotherhood hates Charles for deserting Erik in his time of need.

(Possibly Erik is exaggerating here.)

Charles refuses to be kidnapped again because “The children were all somewhat traumatised to find us in bed together. Naked. They’re all rather more used to finding us fully clothed and surrounded by warped metal and broken bits of china. I’d rather not put them through that all over again, there’s a good chap.”

Hence the foul mood.

~

“Charles,” Erik announces, with no small amount of flair. “Charles. You are Bohemian Rhapsody. You are beloved by literally everybody. You make no sense. You are inclined to babbling. I have had entire conversations with you that were simply made up of non-sequiturs that Freddie Mercury would have been _proud_ of.”

“That’s nice, dear,” Charles replies, because he has no sense for drama whatsoever.

“I am trying to propose, Charles,” Erik says, and if he sounds haggard that’s because dating Charles Xavier is actually more trouble than it’s worth.

“Oh. I thought we were already married.” Charles tilts his head adorably. “You did say we were. For thirty years in fact.”

“Yes,” Erik concedes, “I did. But now I think we should elope and find the nearest registrar who would be willing to make it legal.”

Charles, for reasons known only to himself, pouts. “If we’re going to get married I think you should buy me a ring. A nice ring, one that doesn’t match your wardrobe. And a cake.”

Erik sighs.

~

They do, eventually, elope. It’s possibly the most widely publicised elopement ever, because Erik manages to grab Charles in the middle of a mildly explosive and very televised battle. Storm and Captain America attempt to stop Erik but Charles feels the need to announce, very loudly, “We’re eloping! Don’t try to stop us!”

Erik had been vaguely hoping to elope, have a quiet honeymoon, and then drop Charles back off at the mansion with a ring on his finger. Maybe later make some pointed remarks about Charles being off the market and such like.

Instead he gets the X-Men and the Avengers staring at them both, somewhat aghast.

“Oh come now, I thought you’d all be gagging at the bit to tell me what a dreadful idea this is.” Charles sounds put out, which is a terrible thought indeed.

“It is,” Wolverine points out.

“Well, we’re eloping nonetheless,” Charles continues, oblivious to basically everything.

Erik wonders, not for the first time, why he even _wants_ to marry Charles in the first place.

~

They do eventually get married. Charles is insufferable the entire time, a large horde of journalists camp outside their honeymoon suite and the X-Men call every half hour to make sure Charles is still alive.

The fifteenth time this happens, Erik throws open the bedroom window, nearly toppling the journalists (who have built some sort of scaffolding because reasons as far as Erik can discern), and bellows into the phone “I’m fucking him not murdering him!”

Charles is not disgusted with him for such crude phrasing, although many probably suspect he would be. They haven’t seen Charles suck a cock though, so they have absolutely no basis for their arguments whatsoever.

“Your life really is very hard, isn’t it, Erik?” Charles says, for once sounding entirely lucid and slightly breathless.

“Yes. Mostly it’s your fault,” Erik replies, because they might be married, but there’s just nothing like a good argument.

~

Everyone pretends to be really surprised when the next explosive, televised battle between good and evil is momentarily paused when Charles and Erik get into a discussion about who broke the good china. They get bored about the time they start making out like teenagers, which is probably a good thing in the long run. 


End file.
